


Embodiment

by gin_tonic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Snarry-A-Thon Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:56:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gin_tonic/pseuds/gin_tonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry could have done without working with a spineless idiot for a partner and he could have done without catching a case as gruesome as this. But now that he's in the middle of this mess, he has to find a way out of it – thank heavens there's the chance a dead war-hero isn't really dead. He might, after all, not be alone in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embodiment

**Author's Note:**

> There are so many thanks to say! First of all, thank you to my wonderful beta [](http://starduchess.dreamwidth.org/profile)[](http://starduchess.dreamwidth.org/)**starduchess**! Thank you for helping me out again. Thanks go also to the _very, very_ patient mods! Thank you all a gazillion times!
> 
> Prompt: "Harry’s an Auror, Voldemort’s long dead. A case Harry’s working on turns particularly grisly – he finds a lab/dungeon where a blend of Muggle surgery/magic experiments have taken place. Cadavers fill the room, dissected, organs harvested, and there are Frankenstein-like creations – magical creatures cut up and stitched onto Muggles. Whoever’s responsible is apparently trying to make Muggles magical – and all evidence seems to point to a dead hero, the bravest man Harry ever knew, being the culprit."

Harry had waited long enough for Novak to arrive, he decided. Why they had decided to partner Harry up with that dolt, he'd never know. Of course he needed a new partner now that Ron had gone to work with George. But not Novak. Novak, who couldn't be arsed to care!

For almost an hour now, Harry had watched the old factory from a cleverly concealed old car, but nothing had happened so far. Which could only mean two things: either nothing would happen at all or something would happen very soon. Judging by the antsy feeling in Harry's stomach, it would be the latter. And Novak had been supposed to be here from the start! Harry checked his watch again and considered sending out a Patronus to ask Novak where the fuck he was, but decided not to risk it. An apparently abandoned car at the dead end of a Muggle street wouldn't rouse any suspicions, but a silvery white stag dashing away from it could hardly be overlooked.

Harry shifted in the seat and sighed as he spotted that he'd even drunk the last dregs of his coffee (made at home, because he just didn't touch the swill at the office anymore). For the umpteenth time he wondered if the point at which an Auror couldn't even stand the office coffee anymore was the point at which he could retire. After all, ultimately the attempt to fill the coffee-void with coffee made at home became tedious and impossible, seeing as the amount of coffee Harry drank during his very long days and how much coffee he could actually carry with him wasn’t equal. The next stage was acceptance of the office swill. And once you drank the stuff voluntarily – not because buying coffee outside was too expensive or because your bosses worked you so hard and you were at the beginning of your career and you didn't dare leave – you'd probably be dead inside anyway.

He threw the empty thermos on the backseat and turned towards the old factory again. According to his research, Muggles had made mannequins in here. But that had been years ago, before the region had gone bankrupt. Nowadays, the factory was empty, unused and not cared for. The perfect place, therefore, for a wizard to set up shop. Usually, these cases barely attracted the attention of the Department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts or the like, but in this case, it had reached the Auror squad. All due to an informant's tip. Muggles had vanished in the area and the informant – none of Harry's – thought a wizard or a witch might be behind it. Why or how, he didn't say. Nevertheless, the info had landed on Harry's desk and had brought him here.

Harry squirmed some more in his seat and tried calculating how long he'd have to sit around in order to go home and report back with his unsuccessful surveillance in the morning. At least another hour or two, he supposed, and sighed. It wasn't like he had any exciting evening plans. Instead, he had intended to do the usual – cook dinner and read or sit in front of the telly – until this new task had come in. And where the fuck was Novak, anyway?

Suddenly, Harry registered movement in the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he moved lower in his seat as he hoped for the Glamour on the car and himself to hold up. But the cloaked man who rushed past him paid neither the car nor Harry any mind. He stopped at the entrance of the factory, then drew an intricate pattern with his wand in the air before he vanished. Harry imitated the wand-pattern with his hand, trying hard to memorize it. This would be easier if Novak were there, but he wasn't and Harry had to make do. He just wished he had eyes inside the factory and knew what was going on in there.

It didn't take the stranger long to come out again, though. Once again he seemed in a hurry, running away from the entrance door and Disapparating in one smooth go as soon as he was about thirty feet from the factory. His face had been hidden by the cloak the whole time.

"Must be an anti-Apparition field," Harry mumbled to himself and quickly jotted that thought down next to the drawing of the pattern he had made. He waited for something more to happen, but the street and factory remained quiet. Quiet enough for Harry to feel antsy again and for his curiosity to prosper. He had to know what was going on inside that factory. Had to go check, even if Novak wasn't there to back him up. He quickly left the car and hurried over to the factory. He could feel the protective shields even without casting any diagnostic spells. Whoever that man was, he certainly knew his way around warding spells. But Harry's imitation of the wand movements worked perfectly and he felt the wards give way as he pushed onwards.

The building was dark and Harry had to squeeze through gaps between old filing cabinets and shelves. A musty smell hung in the air and something ... faint. Something he couldn't quite make out. He pushed through another door and there was a prickling feeling at the back of his neck. Harry wiped his hand on his trousers and gripped his wand tighter. Just don't lose your nerve, Harry. You've done worse things than this. You managed to take down several dark wizards before your first year as an Auror was even over.

He cast a diagnostic spell, but came up empty. Something was wrong, though – he could feel it in his bones. He hesitated casting a _Lumos_ for the fear he might disturb something that was lurking in the darkness. Whatever might be there, he wouldn't give it an advantage.

The feeling of wrongness increased with every step until he stumbled on something. Heart thumping like crazy, Harry looked around to find what had tripped him. And found a mannequin. Harry exhaled and took a deep, relieved breath –and choked almost immediately on the rank smell in the air. Only then he realised he knew that smell. Locked away far in the back his mind, he found it: the smell of old blood and death. He reached out slowly and found waxy skin instead of plastic. He snatched his hand back and tried to even out his breathing. He started moving methodically, checking the body in front of him first. Its limbs were sticking out at odd angles and it looked like its hand was not its own. Someone had fused a foreign hand to the rest of its body. Whoever the corpse had been – that person was long dead.

Harry raised his hand and finally did cast _Lumos_. The first thing he saw was the body's milky eyes staring up at him. And then he noticed the body behind it. And the one that had been placed in a sitting position on a table. There were mannequins interspersed with the dead, both unmoving and too white to look real.

Harry moved through the room, careful to touch as little as possible. The crime scene wizards would want to have a look at this later on and, while they weren't bothered by fingerprints, they would scan the vicinity for magical signatures. And when magical beings touched something, that left behind their magical signatures. Sometimes these were so faint that someone else's could easily cover up the original.

Harry squeezed through yet another narrow doorway and froze in place. While the first room had been horrific enough, this topped even _his_ worst nightmares. Plastic tarps hung around the room, most ripped, fluttering in a barely noticeable breeze. All of them were bloody. Here the stink of rot and blood and fear was the strongest, emanating from the middle of the room. The floor was sticky, but Harry didn't want to look. Couldn't. Instead, his eyes were glued to the scene in front of him: bodies haphazardly cut open and sewn shut again. Their eyes were wide open, but only some of the eyeballs were still in their sockets. Two bodies lay next to each other on a slab – the left had one of the right's legs stitched to its hip, while the right chest still gaped open. Someone had started putting in a new heart, but had obviously not finished the process.

"So much blood," Harry mumbled and swallowed down the bile that threatened to break out of him. The victims must've been alive, or there wouldn't be so much blood. Alive while they had been hacked apart and sewn back up again. And all of them were dead. All but one.

"Please …" The voice was raspy and barely discernible from the sound of the fluttering tarps, but Harry heard it nevertheless. He fell on his knees next to the woman – blue eyes staring into nothing, mouth crusty with blood. Her fingers were twitching and, as he reached for her hand, they closed around his with a surprising strength. "Please."

"Who did this to you?" Harry asked as he ran his wand over her naked body. Someone had cut open her abdomen and had closed the wound after. Her left arm was not her own and looked discoloured, almost green.

"Please."

Harry quickly sent his Patronus off towards St. Mungo's and headquarters and repeated his question a little louder, because he didn't know if she heard him. He felt how the last bit of life was ebbing out of her, but she tried to hold on to what little she had. "Stop … him. The dark … he … catches. Snatches …" She wet her lips with blood on her tongue. "Wants … make whole." And then she was gone. Just like that.

A noise shook him from the grief he suddenly felt for this naked stranger in his arms. He laid her down carefully, then he raised his wand to light the room. Nothing. Yet the feeling of being watched increased and raised the hair on his neck.

Harry swallowed thickly. Nothing good ever came from a feeling like this, his Auror experience told him. He inched forward, past bodies both bloody and white, and shone his light into the room he'd come from. First he didn't see them. A rattle and a groan told of their presence; the smell, unique in its rot, followed right after. Then the first squeezed through the space between door and cabinet where Harry had come from. Inferi.

He cast the most powerful warding spell he could think of, then he looked for something to block the door with, but found nothing. Hurriedly, he looked for another exit – there was none. He was trapped. Harry looked at the advancing Inferi. The warding spell wouldn't hold them off for long. He needed to keep them away, but he had to protect the bodies and whatever evidence was left here at the same time. Why did it take so long for reinforcements to arrive?

A hand, single and deadly, broke through his barrier. There was nothing for it. Harry cast a preservation charm on the bodies and, as his wards dropped, blasted his strongest fire spell at the Inferi. The fire roaring behind him, he blasted through the next wall, flames licking at his clothes, his face. He broke free as the building behind him exploded.

******

  
The mediwitch was still touching up his burns when Head Auror Singer Apparated to the area to get Harry's statement. He had a stern look on his face like always, and Harry didn't know what to make of it.

"Why were you on your own?"

"Novak never showed." Harry had it with Novak. Partners were supposed to have each others' backs, and since Novak continuously failed to have his, he was done protecting him.

"What do you mean, he never showed?"

"When I got to the assignment, I did the research. He was with me when we got the tip after you sent us to check the street. I told Novak where and when we'd meet, but he never showed."

"Did you send him a Patronus?"

Harry nodded. "Before I got to the observation point, I did. Once I got there, it was too dangerous."

Singer clenched his jaw but didn't comment. Instead he peppered Harry with yet another question: "Why did you go in alone?"

Harry sighed and winced at the same time as the mediwitch slapped some salve on his burned shoulder. "Suspect showed. I noticed a strong magical field and, as he Disapparated after a short while, decided it was worth checking up on."

"Without backup."

"Sir … I made a choice to check it out and I stand behind it."

"Even though most of the building burned to cinders."

"Yes. Even then. Maybe if I'd been earlier, I could've –"

"Potter." Now it was Singer's turn to sigh. "If you'd been earlier, you'd have been sitting right in the unsub's lap. Now get yourself patched up while we wait for the analysts to do their job."

Singer was about to turn and leave, when McFarley – senior magical analyst – burst into the room. "Sir! Sir! You have to see this!" He held out a parchment with shimmering letters, and Harry quickly got up to look over Singer's shoulder.

One word popped up immediately: _Snape_.

"But that's impossible!" Harry burst out. "Snape's been dead for years!"

Singer gave him a look. "Of course he's dead. But still. It's curious that both signatures show similarities." Singer pointed at the sentence before Snape's name: _The magical fields used to block Apparitions and Disapparitions, as well as keeping the Inferi in, show similarities seen in the magical signature of one being._

******

  
Later that night, lying in bed, Harry couldn't get the analysis out of his head. Snape hadn't haunted his thoughts in a long time. In fact, he'd thought he'd finally gotten over the whole thing – over Snape dying. But now that Snape was back in his mind, so was the night he'd died. He'd spent hundreds of nights mulling over what he could have done to save Snape. But to no avail.

There had been a time – starting maybe four months after the war had been over, lasting no longer than three weeks – when Harry had clung to the hope that Snape was still alive. His friends had gone over that night with a fine-toothed comb with him just to appease him. And they'd made him see that his hopes were unfounded, that he had to accept that he couldn't save everyone.

But now. Now that he saw that analysis, whatever little hope he'd had resurfaced and, almost desperate, Harry grappled with the idea that Snape could still be alive. Sure, he would never have done anything as horrific as what he'd seen in that warehouse (Harry pushed aside the memories of blood and gore and focused on Snape instead), but what if he'd been there, at the warehouse. Why, Harry couldn't tell. Sometimes magical signatures, especially strong ones, stayed with objects for years. Maybe Snape had been at the warehouse before all those things had happened there. Or maybe he was looking into the crimes as well.

Harry shook his head. Ridiculous. Why would Snape – if he even was alive – be checking out crimes that Harry had only found out about that same day? The victims hadn't been wizards and witches – they didn't have any magical fizzes left in their bodies, nor had they been declared missing by anyone. All this guessing wouldn't help Harry to solve the case anyway. He needed to find motive and perpetrator. But first of all, he needed to find out what exactly had gone down in the warehouse. Tomorrow.

Harry inhaled and exhaled deeply, just like Ginny had once shown him. Clear your mind, Harry. He tried to sink further into the pillows and clear his head. But before sleep welcomed him, one thought slipped to the surface. Even if Snape was alive, what would Harry do with that information?

******

  
Harry got to headquarters early the next day. A fresh coffee from the little Muggle coffee shop around the corner (bless the business-type Muggles for depending on a decent latte), he sat down at his desk with the files from the analysts and the photographs the evidence unit had taken. Before he started reviewing anything, though, he took out his Pensieve and extracted his memories of the events in the warehouse. It was department policy to use the Pensieve for writing objective reports and to have someone who was not working the case go over the memories as well and verify the report. It had been Kingsley's idea, actually, to implement this technique, in order to avoid the corruption and chaos that had been present before and during the war.

Harry wasn't particularly keen on reliving yesterday's terror, but Dumbledore had been right when he'd told Harry that it became easier to spot patterns and links when looking at memories this way. Thinking about Dumbledore usually helped Harry. The Pensieve allowed Harry to go around a room and check for evidence he hadn't noted before, to check for a telling twitch in a suspect's face – simply put, to find the truth. And so Harry dove in.

He resurfaced breathless and was immensely glad that most of his colleagues hadn't yet arrived, because he hated for them to see him this shaken. He hadn't found any mistake in his actions, luckily, but had spotted that the Inferi had followed him from the get-go, only attacking him when he'd seen them. Whoever had created them, they hadn't ordered them to attack any intruders, but probably only those that wanted to leave. It left Harry wondering if he'd been watched during his foray into the warehouse. Worrying his lip, Harry set to write his report. He returned to the Pensieve and his memories four times before he was satisfied.

Afterwards, he checked the analyses – magical signatures, state of the victims, general evidence spared by the fire thanks to Harry's protection spell. There was scarcely any left, but hopefully it was enough. He'd already suspected that the bodies had been experimented on other than their limbs being sewn to strangers' bodies. The examiners had found their organs switched or replaced. Some of the bodies had looked like someone had been searching for something in them – especially in the area of the heart or the brain. Two bodies showed evidence of extensive spellwork on their extremities.

Harry scratched his head. Why had the perpetrator done all that? Why had he gone through all that trouble? What had the experiments been for? There seemed no sense behind any of it, but the perpetrator _had_ to have had a reason to do all this. Senseless murder was one thing, but the scene in the warehouse was witness to one thing besides gore and bloodlust – dedication. Harry just wasn't sure if he wanted to understand what had driven that monster to do all that to innocent people. Sighing, Harry got up and raked a hand through his messy hair. It needed a wash.

******

  
Novak found him in the restroom later. "Singer ordered me to come to his office."

"Good day to you, too," Harry said and rolled his eyes. The paper-towel dispenser was empty again, and Harry shook his hands vigorously before drying them on his robes. Doing a drying charm was always too much of a bother for something as simple as this.

"Fuck you, Potter."

"What's your problem, Novak?"

"You ratted me out!"

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest to keep his hand from twitching for his wand. Hexing Novak would be sweet, but it would lead to a butt-load of paperwork. "I told Singer you weren't there with me at the warehouse to back me up, yeah. And why not? Thanks to you, I had no backup and it nearly got me killed!"

"Nobody told you to go inside."

So Novak had heard what had gone down yesterday. Interesting. "I was doing my bloody job. Not that you seem to know much about that." Predictably, Novak had his wand out in a second. "Oh, come on. Put that away. I know your aim is shit. Besides, hexing me would only bring you closer to getting fired, wouldn't it?" Harry walked past Novak, who was shaking with rage. "A word to the wise: next time, get your arse to back your partner up. Should that poor sod be me and you don't, I'll see to it you get sacked sooner than you can cast _Flagrante_."

As Harry left the bathroom, he was sure he'd just made an enemy for life. Dangerous, especially if that enemy was supposed to be on your side, but Harry just about had it with incompetent, lazy Aurors. He held himself and everyone else to a high standard, because he knew how important they were to keeping the peace in their world. If someone didn't make the cut – well, that wasn't his problem anymore.

******

  
Around three in the afternoon, Harry finally decided to listen to his growling stomach. Foregoing the cafeteria and its unhealthy shit-meals, he marched towards one of those hipster-veggie places. He might not like the clientele, but once in a while he had a craving for something healthy. Merlin knew his everyday life took enough energy out of him. Replenishing it with something that was actually full of vitamins sounded like a good idea, especially since Luna had showed him the place on one of their lunch breaks.

Mulling over his carrot and ginger soup and the side-order salad with radishes and arugula, Harry's thoughts returned to last night's ponderings. And here he had been thinking he'd gotten over the whole Snape-thing.

Harry had known he felt something other than loathing or admiration or whatever other emotion for Snape he'd gone through during his first five years at school. Somewhere along the way, his feelings had grown, mutated into something different. Something passionate and sometimes dirty, something that was wrong and right at the same time. He'd agonised over it and had come to peace with it. Because why bother analysing something to death when the object of your fascination was dead already?

And now … Harry shook his head and spooned soup inside his mouth. No, nothing had changed. A similar magical signature showing up meant nothing at all, not even if one didn't believe in coincidences. He gulped down the rest of his coffee – only barely warm now – stuffed the remains of the muffin in his mouth and got up. He needed to keep a level head to solve the case. Afterwards … well, he had enough overtime to give him a couple of days off to solve the mystery around Snape as well. Even though he didn't know what to do once he found his answer. If Snape was alive, would he dare to approach him, even though Snape had hidden himself away all these years? And if Snape was dead, would Harry finally be able to make his peace with that knowledge?

******

  
Unfortunately, the informant who'd given them the tip about the warehouse in the first place had been Novak's, and so Harry was forced to take that surly, unhelpful piece of flesh along. Novak was as much help as a zit on his arse, but Singer had been adamant.

Harry looked around the corner of the little alley near Knockturn Alley again and checked for any onlookers. These streets made him uneasy, despite his badge and wand. Novak's snitch stood there, filthy-looking and uneasy, and reeking of wet dog. The light drizzle didn't make the smell any better. Harry tugged up his robe and forced himself to huddle closer. "So, tell me again: how exactly did you know something would go down in that warehouse?"

The snitch fidgeted. "Didn't know anything would go down. I just heard, you know, rumours."

"Rumours about what?"

"Listen, you came to me, asking if I heard of anything weird happening near Newcastle. And I did – I told you everything, in fact. That I heard whispers of strange things happening near that street."

"But _where_ did you hear them? Who gave you the info? And what exactly do you mean by _strange things_?" Harry felt the need to kick himself for not asking any of these questions earlier. Novak had spoken with the man alone before. Harry should've insisted on getting more details. Well. One learned from mistakes, right?

The snitch shrugged and looked over his shoulder again. "Just heard people talking."

"Where?" Harry had had it with that guy. He was damn well close to just grabbing him and taking him to headquarters to discuss this somewhere nice and quiet. The drizzle made him cranky. As did Novak's presence – who was, once again, not helpful at all.

"Places."

Harry grabbed the little slimeball by the collar and shook him. "Where, dammit?!"

"A pub, okay?!" Slimeball pushed Harry away and straightened his collar. As if it made any difference to his looks. _"The Swanky Poodle."_

Novak snorted and Harry shot him a look. "Are you fucking kidding –"

"I swear!"

Harry looked at Novak's informant long and hard, then nodded. "Alright." A noise made him look around the corner, but he saw no-one lurking. The snitch Disapparated with a bang before Harry could ask him any other questions. "Let's go check with the Muggle police if they know our missing persons. It's not nearly late enough to go check out a pub."

"It's not?" Novak looked at his watch.

"Not for the shady blokes to crawl out of their holes, it isn't."

******

  
Muggle suits donned, Harry and Novak had no problems entering the police precinct in Newcastle upon Tyne handling the missing persons. Fake papers with charms on them usually did the trick. They were given a list of the missing Muggles – now murder victims, but the Muggle police didn't know that yet. First, the bodies had to be fixed up a little and a nice little cover story had to be found. And after the murderer had been arrested, the Wizarding government would feed their faked info to the Muggle police, who would then inform the victims' relatives. They'd get the glory for finding the bad guy, who resisted arrest and was killed in the process – or so the Muggles would think – and the victims would have closure. Files safely stored in his pockets – surreptitiously shrunken, of course – Harry thanked the police officer and made his way to the pub. He'd check the missing Muggles' history and look for commonalities later, when he was alone and away from Novak.

 _The Swanky Poodle_ was not what its name promised. Nothing about the place was swanky – or clean. And the only thing it had in common with a poodle was the reek that came from the place – smelled right like a wet dog's arsehole. Unfortunately, Harry was quite sure about that description, even though he sure as hell didn't want to go down memory lane to check why exactly he knew that. Damn Dudley.

The floor of the _Poodle_ was sticky and it took Harry a little extra effort to lift his shoes. There was a bowl with nuts on the bar, but Harry did not want to think about who and what had had their paws in there. Nor did he want to look too closely at the pickled eggs that looked a little too much like eyes. Harry was glad they'd thought to transfigure their clothes to look a little more … used. And that he hadn't shaved in a while.

Harry leaned on the bar – only rolling his eyes a little at how utterly disgusting the wood felt beneath his arms – and nodded at the barkeeper. "Firewhisky." Novak imitated him, but unlike Harry he downed his glass right away and asked for another.

"Just blending in," he said at Harry's look.

"Sure." Harry was more than certain that Novak knew the code for undercover investigations at a bar: fit in, but don't get pissed. Harry only hoped Novak could hold his liquor.

Harry took a careful sip then started moving through the crowd. Warlocks and shady-looking wizards and witches filled up the place, some of whom Harry recognised from the mug shots at headquarters. He filed the location and their faces for later. For now, he was looking for a different kind of target. Naturally, he had no clue what their guy looked like and was forced to listen to the dark muttering around him.

_'I paid seven Galleons for the heart …'_

_'She continued screaming. Can't describe how good that felt.'_

Harry balled his hand into a fist inside his robe, but continued his path through the pub, before he settled down at a dirty table that offered a good vantage point.

_'They will suffer.'_

Then a low murmur broke through the noise: _'Must switch the organs. Switch, switch. No, that didn't work. Need a new place, a new spot to experiment._ Harry perked up and looked around. He saw a hunched figure a few seats over. The voice had been a man's, which fit into the profile Harry had already built inside his head. Suddenly, as if he'd sensed Harry looking, he got up and ducked towards the rear exit.

Harry looked around – where the fuck was Novak?! He'd be damned if let the suspect escape, not when he was this close. Holding his wand close to his body, Harry slipped out the door. He didn't see the hooded figure following him.

The alley behind the pub was as dark as could be expected of a place like this. Harry spotted his suspect further down and hurried past wheelie bins. The cloaked man turned around another corner, but as Harry followed, he found the alley empty. "What the –?" Where had the guy gone? There hadn't even been the tiniest pop to mark a Disapparation. Then a shadow Harry had thought part of the wall started moving, and at the same time Harry heard a shuffle behind him. He whirled around, but he could barely raise his wand before he heard a shout and a ball of oozing, red light hit him in the chest. Pain raced through his body, so much so that Harry barely felt it when his body hit the ground. Then he blacked out.

******

  
Blurrily, the room came into focus. First the light fixtures on the ceiling, then the slow-moving fan that circled lazily to move the heavy summer air. Harry heard noises coming from his left and he turned his head, noticing that he was lying on a sofa, while he tried to get his eyes to work properly. His head hurt and he remembered getting hit by something heavy. Or had he hit something? The ground. Yes. First a hex had hit him, then he'd smacked against the ground. Had he woken up in that alley, after getting attacked? He felt – or remembered? – that he'd struggled to regain his consciousness and had seen someone bent over him before blackness had taken him again. Or had he just dreamed that?

Harry blinked and tried to focus on the light fixtures instead of the spinning fan. Then, slowly, he turned his head and could make out a dark figure in the room, puttering about. What had happened? Why was he here? And where was his wand?

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and waited for the dizziness to subside before he surveyed his surroundings. A small room, maybe a hut, even. He was lying on the bed and the man was near the hearth, cutting something up, from the sound of it. There was only one door and it was too far to reach before he would be caught. Leaving only one thing to do: Harry cleared his throat.

"Took you long enough. Are you done with appraising my home?"

Harry jumped and nearly fell off the bed in his shock. "Snape?"

"Surprised, are we?"

"Well, yes. And no."

Finally, Snape turned around and looked at him. "No?"

"I found signs ... I hoped you were alive, but I didn't have proof. Now I do."

It was as if someone had cracked a whip – Snape suddenly advanced on him, wand drawn, and snarled, "You won't tell anyone!"

Harry raised his arms in defence. "I won't!" He shook his head. "It's not like anyone would believe me anyway."

Snape let out something like a growl and moved back to his chopping. Slowly, Harry swung his legs off the bed – and promptly decided that not moving sounded like a great idea; the room was spinning.

"Do you know who attacked me?"

"A strange, spidery man. Tall. I wasn't too keen on making his acquaintance."

"You hexed him?"

Snape didn't even bother to turn around for his answer, but Harry could detect something like disdain in the way he held his shoulders. "No. He was gone too quickly. Ran past you and followed another man."

"Okay." Harry worried his lip. "Sounds like it was my partner, though."

_That_ made Snape turn around. "Your partner."

"Yes."

"You think your partner hexed you."

"Yes. Must've been an accident." Or so Harry hoped. Novak was useless, but he wouldn't attack Harry, not outright.

Snape actually threw his head back and laughed what Harry could only describe as a full belly-laugh. "Only you, Potter. Only you."

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I can't believe that he just left me, though. But, well, he _is_ a douchebag."

"I'll say." There was some more chopping, then Snape dropped the ingredients, one by one, into the cauldron. "What did you do to deserve that?"

"I didn't deserve it!"

"What did you do?"

Harry huffed. "Called him out on his sloppy work and on not having my back in the field." Snape nodded, but said nothing while he stirred. Suddenly, Harry remembered the similarities in the magical signatures that had been discovered in the remnants of the warehouse. "Have you ever been to a warehouse near Bigtam Road in Newcastle upon Tyne? The lonely end of the street?"

Snape clearly faltered in his movements for a second, and Harry's heart constricted painfully. It didn't get better when Snape answered, "Yes."

Harry wet his lips."Recently?"

"No. Years ago." Sweet relief pooled in Harry's stomach. "Why?"

"Caught a case. Murder, Inferi, the works."

Snape ladled the concoction from his cauldron into a stone tumbler, then he thrust it at Harry. "Drink."

Harry did and barely managed to keep the foul stuff in. "What is it?"

"Concussion remedy with a light healing component to counteract the hex you've been hit with." Snape frowned. "You should have asked _before_ drinking it."

"But I got it from you."

"Precisely. I could've tried to poison you."

"No, you wouldn't," said Harry and grinned.

"I should."

Harry's smile just got wider. "Anyway, they found a signature that appears similar to yours. Very similar."

"Was that why you suspected I was alive?"

"Well, I didn't think," Harry started and was interrupted by Snape's snort. "I just hoped."

Snape gave him a look and changed the topic. "What were you doing sneaking around that alley?"

"I was investigating. What were _you_ doing there?"

"Took you long enough to ask. I thought you Aurors were schooled to ask questions."

"Hey, I got hexed! Even I need a while to recuperate!" Harry protested. "And? What's your excuse for being at the pub?"

Snape sniffed as he towered over Harry. "I don't need an excuse. As it happens, that pub is one of my locals."

"That dive?!"

"That _dive_ serves one of the best Firewhiskys in the country. Besides, nobody asks stupid questions there."

Harry inclined his head and finally got up. Snape's concoction had really helped. "Thanks for helping me."

"Saving you."

"Saving me, then." Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets. He had no excuse to stay, save to satisfy his curiosity. "How did you –"

"Survive? None of your business."

Another time then, Harry thought. He should go and take care of the business with Novak anyway, he supposed. "I better –"

"Yes, and don't bother coming back." Snape turned and strode back to his workbench. While his back was turned, Harry slipped his wand down until it was touching his palm. While his thumb was holding it in place, his fingers drew a complicated pattern into the air until a tiny, bronze-coloured ball of light appeared on the tip of his forefinger. Quietly he bent down as if to tie his shoelaces but quickly touched the underside of the bed instead, where the bronze ball stuck and slowly faded.

"Okay, I'll go then," Harry said and made for the door.

"Disapparate from here," Snape snapped at him. "I lifted the Disapparation ban for some minutes." And that was it.

"See you," Harry said and caught a glimpse of Snape's frowning face before he Disapparated.

******

  
Harry Apparated straight to headquarters, which had its own Apparition point. Douglas was the only one who was there and his eyes widened as Harry appeared.

"Blimey, Harry! Are you alright?"

Harry blinked. "For the most part. Why? What's going on?" He didn't miss the way Douglas was looking at him.

"Novak. He … he said you'd tried to arrest some guy and went berserk doing it. And that he hexed you to stop you, but you escaped."

Harry gaped at Douglas. "He _what_?!"

"Thought he was lying," Douglas said and walked with Harry towards the Head Auror's office. He heard excited voices coming from inside. One of them undoubtedly belonged to fucking Novak. He didn't bother knocking and just strode in. There was something glittering in Singer's unsurprised eyes that Harry hoped was relief.

"You little, backstabbing fuckwad." Harry greeted Novak with an icy stare.

"See, Captain, he –"

"You hexed me! And left me there in that alley!" Harry yelled and summoned his Pensieve. He caught it swiftly as it smacked into his palm. Thank God he'd returned all his memories to his head the last time he'd used it, or they would have been nothing but a puddle on the floor. Calmly, he extracted the memories from his head concentrating just enough to stop when he blacked out in that alley. They needn't see Snape. "There you go, Sir."

Novak looked as if he wanted to reach out and stop Singer from delving into Harry's memories, but in the end he didn't. Waiting next to someone who reviewed one's memories always felt like an excruciatingly long amount of time, even though it barely took over a minute. But once the other person was done, there was always a verdict. Usually it was to judge if an Auror had done something right or wrong, but this time, Harry was batting against Novak. He just hoped Novak hadn't fed Singer with lies before, because that just might influence his perception of the scene.

When Singer resurfaced from watching Harry's memories, he looked at both him and Novak gravely. "Well, if a suspect pursuit was ever botched, it's this one. Novak, I should send you back to the academy – if I hadn't just witnessed your complete inability to cast a straight spell. You endangered the welfare of your partner!"

Novak gritted his teeth – he didn't even look the least bit sorry. "He should have moved out of the way!"

"You hit me square in the chest, Novak! There was no 'moving out of the way' possible!" Harry thundered.

"Novak, get out of my sight. I don't want to see your arse back here for a week. And your actions will come in front of the review board."

"But –"

"Dismissed, Novak!"

Novak turned on his heel and left the room. A weird feeling spread through Harry's spine – for the first time in history he felt like was finally being treated fairly. Back in Hogwarts and at the Dursleys' things had always ended up his fault. He felt strangely giddy. "Thanks, Sir."

Singer sat down and rubbed his hands over his face. "Don't thank me yet. I can't let you out in the field alone, Potter."

"I've been alone several times –"

"But you shouldn't have been, that's the point. Aurors are supposed to have back-up."

"But, Sir, getting banned to the desk … I didn't do anything wrong."

Singer opened a drawer on his desk and took out a tumbler of whisky and a glass. "I hear you, Potter. I'll think about it. Maybe I can partner you up with Douglas or one of the others." He poured himself a generous helping. "Go home, take care of whatever aches that hex caused." He eyed Harry and his healthy-looking state suspiciously for a second, but decided not to comment. "Come speak to me when your shift starts."

******

  
Harry had been asleep for only about two hours when the alarm on the Floo woke him. He ran to it, wearing nothing but his boxers. His heart was in his throat – an alarm in the middle of the night never meant anything good. He just hoped Ron and Hermione were alright.

Singer's head was in the middle of the fireplace and Harry quickly got on his knees in front of it to talk to him. "Sir! What is going on?"

"It's Novak," Singer said, and Harry felt dread bubble in his stomach. For sure Novak had done something stupid. "He went back to that pub you two were in, to find that suspect."

As Singer paused, Harry couldn't help but ask, "And did he?"

Singer ran a hand over his face. It looked eerie – his hand coming from nowhere. "Must've. Listen, Harry, Novak … it looks like he duelled with someone." Singer didn't need to say more. It was obvious that Novak hadn't come out the victor in the duel. Harry sat back on his haunches and exhaled slowly. He had wanted Novak gone, but not like this. He'd wanted him fired or maybe even arrested, but he hadn't wished this on him.

"Do you know why he did it?"

Singer shook his head. "Not really. Though we suspect he tried to get the perp from the warehouse."

"To get back into your good graces." Harry sighed, then summoned his robes. "I'll come in immediately."

"No, Potter. You stay there."

Harry frowned. His robe hung loosely from his shoulders. "Why?"

"You know how it is. If an Auror's partner dies …"

"I don't need compassionate leave!" Harry finished pulling on his robes. He hadn't even been able to stand Novak and he certainly wasn't broken up about his death. He felt regret, sure, but it wouldn't stop him from being able to work.

"It's standard procedure, Potter. Besides, what with the stuff that happened between you two … I think it's better if you sit this one out." His voice left no room for discussion and soon after his head vanished from the fire.

Unable to sleep, Harry walked into his kitchen to fix himself a cup of coffee. Trust Novak to fuck things up after all. He felt bad for being angry at a dead man, but then again, why should his feeling change just because Novak was dead?

Harry held his head over the steam of his coffee. His thoughts were jumbled, both from sleep and from the news about Novak. What was he supposed to do now? Just sit there and wait until someone solved this and the other murders? As far as Harry was concerned, this was another one of the perp's atrocities and it was his job to find the guilty person.

******

  
Harry tried to adhere to Singer's order and stay at home, but he had never promised to just sit there and do nothing. He reviewed the time in the warehouse and that scene in the alley, but the commonalities were scarce. While he was wandering around the pub for the third time in his memories, he finally managed to catch a glimpse of the suspect. He wrote down the details of the man's face, the way he held himself, the way he ran.

He sent owls to Douglas and McFarley – they still owed him for covering their arses when they had been too hung over after the Christmas party to come to work. Douglas sent him what they had found out about the victims – names, addresses, habits and hobbies, as well as the last place they had been seen. McFarley sent him a detailed description of the magical signature and of every trace they had found. Harry took all of it and put it up on a board he'd transfigured out of a chair.

Harry stared at the board and sipped on his coffee. The victims had been from all over the city, but had vanished right from the middle of the city centre. The latest ones had even been taken in broad daylight. The methods of the murderer had been brazen and spoke of an incredible arrogance. Whoever he was, he was sure he wouldn't get caught. And that was where he was wrong.

From what the technicians had been able to deduct, their assailant had _Petrified_ the men and women and had started cutting. Sometimes he'd used magic, but most of the time he'd used knives. The thought nauseated Harry to the extreme, but he pushed that aside and pushed on. McFarley had found the tiniest traces of magical energy, even though the victims had been as Muggle as they come. But their bodies hadn't been designed to hold magic and had rejected it. It was probably then that the perp had decided to start transplanting limbs and organs. Douglas had found that not all of them belonged to the bodies in the warehouse. Merlin knew where he'd got them. But they had all died, in the end.

Harry spelled his coffee warm again. It had gotten dark outside, and he felt like he'd not gotten anywhere closer to nailing the murderer. He needed a way to find the perp – location, no matter how precise, wouldn't suffice for someone who operated too blatantly, for someone who could Apparate.

To find his perp, he needed motive. He needed help.

Harry pushed his coffee aside, then took out his wand and drew a triangle, followed by what would have looked like a squiggly line to any onlooker. He grinned – his tracker was still in place. He didn't hesitate long, concentrated, then Disapparated. He landed, not right where his tracker was, but about ten feet to the right and five feet back – right in front of Snape's door. And knocked.

Snape threw open the door even before Harry had lowered his hand and glared at him. "Piss off, Potter!"

"I need your help."

"I said –"

"I heard you the first time," said Harry and raised his hands to show that he'd come in peace. "I still need your help."

"What now, Potter? Why are you not with your partner? He's helped you so much in the past."

"He's dead." Harry stepped a little closer to Snape, effectively blocking his chance to just close the door in his face.

"So they kicked you out of the club?"

"They suggested I take a break."

"You're looking for revenge."

Harry snorted. "I'm looking for a way to nail a guy who's killed dozens of people."

Snape looked at him long and hard and then stepped aside to let him in. "Don't touch anything."

Harry ignored him and entered. Now that he felt decidedly less battered, Harry found the room looked different. It wasn't only because what had been a bed before was now a sofa, but because he noted that there were more doors leading from the room than just the front door. "So you don't just live in a one-room cabin," Harry burst out, earning himself a weird look from Snape.

"You didn't think I'd be brewing in my bedroom, did you?"

Harry shrugged, and Snape sniffed. "This only goes to show how little you know about potions."

"Like that's news for you." Harry was happy to let Snape think he was complete pants at potions, despite having received decent marks during Auror training. It would only be to his advantage in getting Snape to help him. He sat down at a table. "This isn't your lab, either. Your lab is better stocked, I bet."

Snape did a slow clap. "Well, well, your education wasn't for naught, after all. Now, why do you think I can help you?"

"You don't have any coffee, by chance?" Harry felt a headache threaten. He had them quite often, but was never sure if one was a stress headache or just symptoms of caffeine withdrawal, nor did he care to find out.

"No, I do not. I should have known you'd drink swill like that. Last I remember, we were still British."

"Didn't think you'd be one for stereotypes. The British and their tea."

"I'm not. I am, however, one for style and class – preparing and drinking tea takes time. It's an art in itself, finding the right amount of leaves, the right duration for brewing…"

Harry grinned. "Just your thing, then."

Snape gave Harry one of his patented looks. "That is correct."

******

  
Snape eventually sat down at the table, too, and stared at Harry until he started talking. Harry told him everything – from the identity of the victims to the deeds done to them in the warehouse. "There are two things I don't get, though. For one: motive. I don't understand why anyone would do any of those experiments – and I'm positive there is a reason behind those. This is too purposeful to be the work of some mad killer. No, he's doing it to achieve something."

"What makes you so sure?"

"Experience."

Surprisingly, Snape nodded at that and then asked him to go on. "The second thing?"

"The magical signature. Why was it so close to yours? The murderer can't be some kind of relative, can he?"

"I have no living relatives."

Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. "Do you have any idea why the signature was like that?"

Snape got up, filled a kettle with water and hung it over the fireplace. As he bent over, Harry couldn't help but to sneak a peek. It was worth the while. Snape leant against the workbench – kitchen counter, whatever – and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Have you ever wondered how a wand chooses a wizard?"

Harry frowned. "Well, I'm not sure. I mean, Voldemort and I had wand-twins because I carried a part of him inside me." And the thought was still pretty disturbing.

"Correct. And you also shared a signature."

"Are you trying to say …?"

"No, you dunderhead!" Snape threw his hands in the air. "Try using your brain for once! Your murderer is using a wand similar to mine."

Harry nodded. "I'll ask Ollivander for a list of suspects, then."

"How is it you know the specifics of my wand?" Snape's voice was almost a hiss now.

Harry shrugged. "Research." He paused for a moment, then plunged on, "Are there circumstances, life decisions and the like, that can influence a signature?"

"Interesting theory," Snape, now a little calmer, admitted and floated the hissing kettle out of the fireplace. Again he bent down, this time to fetch a box from the cupboard, and Harry appreciated the view once more. Snape had a surprisingly firm-looking butt. "But my magical signature hasn't changed – I wouldn't still be able to use the wand I got when I was eleven if it had."

"So, if anything is going to influence the signature, it must happen before we get our Hogwarts letters."

Snape said nothing and concentrated on mixing the water and the stuff from the box. Harry took it as leeway to continue talking. "I don't think it's our surroundings that shape us in that respect. You and me, we'd have more similar signatures if that were true." Harry watched Snape gently stir the mixture in the cup. A smell – comforting and reviving at the same time – wafted over to him and Harry's eyes widened. "Is that …?"

Snape placed the cup in front of Harry. "A Vietnamese blend. There are one or two potions I use it for, but I've found it useful for counteracting headaches without having to rely on costly potions."

"I thought you didn't have any coffee."

"I lied."

Harry clutched the cup of coffee like a lifeline. _Snape had made coffee for him._ He wanted to kiss the man. Instead he said thanks and cleared his throat. Back to topic. "Possibly, it's genes."

"Too easy. That would make all wizards with Muggle fathers and witch mothers have similar magical signatures to mine. How about how much magic they were surrounded by during their childhood?"

Harry took a sip from the coffee – strong, with a hint of chocolate – and pursed his lips a little. "Sounds plausible. Did your mother use magic a lot?"

When Snape didn't answer immediately and looked uncomfortable, Harry started taking his question back. But then Snape said, "When my father was out of the house."

Harry nodded slowly, not wanting to dig further where it wouldn't be welcomed. "So we can take a guess that the murderer didn't grow up in a household where magic was used casually."

“He's not from a pure-blood family," Snape agreed. "Squib or Muggle as one parent. That should narrow your suspect pool nicely."

Harry smiled and pushed away the empty cup. The coffee had tasted seriously good and had cleared his head from the headache. "It should, thanks. I don't suppose you've got any insights as to motive."

"I believe that's your job. Can't do all your homework for you, can I, Mr Potter?"

Harry was sure he could detect a faint note of amusement behind Snape's words. "It was worth a try, wasn't it?" Harry stuck out his tongue then shook his head. "But honestly, I'm stumped. Like I said, I believe there is a reason for the murders – I just can't figure it out."

"Maybe you should sleep on it."

Longingly, Harry looked over at the sofa, but he kept his mouth shut. "Maybe." He got up and stretched, then he looked through the room again. He would have liked to know what lay behind the other door. Someday he would, he was sure of it. If only he played his cards right. "Maybe … do you think I could come by sometime?"

"You came by just now. Isn't that enough?" Snape took Harry's empty cup and brought it over to the sink. His back was turned towards Harry as he slowly rinsed the cup.

"I was thinking I could bring lunch," Harry said and to avoid another misunderstanding – deliberate or not – added, "We could eat lunch together."

Snape sniffed, and Harry took that as a good sign. "See you soon, then," he said and Disapparated.

******

  
Being on compassionate leave was much like being grounded, Harry found. Sure, he could leave his place and go grocery shopping and technically he could also go to Diagon Alley to get a sundae at Fortescue's, but it kind of lost its appeal. All he really wanted to do was to find the murderer and to close that chapter of his life, finally. And there was this bit of guilt gnawing at his conscience because he wasn't feeling sad because of Novak's death.

Under the ruse of enjoying a bit of ice cream, Harry strolled through Diagon Alley. He didn't know if he was actually fooling anyone, but he tried anyway and ducked into Ollivander's as stealthily as he could.

Harry didn't have to wait long for Ollivander to show. Ollivander stared at him with that weird look in his eyes, the one that never changed. Harry had long ago learned to meet and hold it. After what seemed to be an eternity, Ollivander blinked and smiled.

"Mr Potter, what a pleasure to see you! Here to buy a new wand? Did the old one grow too bothersome?"

"No, no, my wand's just fine. I –"

"Yes, I can imagine it is. Never quite as clean and polished as others, but strong. Oh yes."

Harry nodded politely. Over the years and after the war, dealing with Ollivander hadn't become easier. When he saw a chance, he took it, "I was wondering if you could help me with a case." No need to mention that he wasn't actively involved in working it at the moment. "I'm looking to narrow down my suspect list. I think my suspect is someone with a Muggle or a Squib for a parent and has a wand similar to this." At that he handed Ollivander a slip of paper with the specifics of Snape's wand, save the length. Length was always a peculiarly individual thing. Ollivander smacked his lips and looked back and forth between Harry and the paper.

"You know, there once was –"

"Just a list of the living, Sir," Harry said quickly. Best not bring Snape into the equation. Ollivander nodded slowly then moved to an old, leather-bound ledger. Strangely enough, it didn't take him long to find what Harry was looking for. A quick spell later and Harry was carrying his list out into the sunshine. He made a couple of stops before he Disapparated back home, just to make sure no-one got too suspicious. Singer might very well have someone watching him, if only to be certain Harry wasn't doing anything stupid. And he wasn't – Harry found what he was doing was pretty damn smart.

******

  
Back at home, Harry put away his shopping, then sat down with a fresh cup of coffee and started studying Ollivander's list. It wasn't particularly long – just twenty names. But twenty suspects were still a lot to check up on, especially without his usual resources. Wizards were hard to track down in general. They tended to move if they didn't like the scenery anymore and there was no classic central registration.

But that was what magic was for. Hogwarts and Ministry letters always reached their intended recipient. The very rare and well guarded books that noted births of wizards and witches (located in Hogwarts) and kept a register of all wizards (located in the Ministry's Department of Mysteries) were of great help. Unfortunately, the latter was unreadable and would only give out names for those kinds of things that required letters, such as the unpermitted use of magic by underage wizards. The book never spat out names of anyone who committed a bigger crime. Instead, one had to literally feed the book with names of suspects and it would spit out their addresses. A bookkeeper was actually needed for that – Harry had seen the book try to rip the woman's arm off once and was wise enough not to try to feed the book.

The whole thing was out of the question anyway, if he didn't want to involve his colleagues. And he didn't, even though he couldn't quite pinpoint why. Harry tried to tell himself that his pride and ambition weren't really involved here and that he just wanted to wrap up this chapter. He wasn't too successful with that. But what was true was that he didn't want anyone to come too close to Snape. He wanted Snape for himself – in all senses of the word.

Harry sighed and _Accio'd_ an apple. Biting off a big chunk of it, he studied the list again. Thankfully, Ollivander had included dates when the wands had been bought. Harry crossed out all those that had been purchased since the war and five years before that. They'd still be too young to work magic as dark and dangerous as this.

_Jeremy Keddle_  
Theordore Whisp  
William Hurtz  
Ken Alexander  
Bert McFergus  
Lennox Van De Meer

There weren't many names left on the list, but there were still too many to go and check them out personally. Harry wanted to run them by someone, but his colleagues were out of the question – as was Snape. He had already involved him too much and just couldn't drag him deeper into this. It wasn't Snape's job anymore to save him – and he'd just done it again. No, Harry had to do this alone. Snape had earned his peace and quiet. Harry wouldn't disturb it further than he had with his crimes and problems. Though he might just disturb it in other ways.

Harry pushed himself away from the table and flicked the apple core into the rubbish bin. He'd start again fresh in the morning. For now, he needed sleep.

******

  
Sleep didn't come. Instead, Harry stared at the ceiling and let his thoughts race through his head. For some reason, Snape pushed himself to the surface each and every time. Harry saw him at his house, handing Harry coffee, staring at Harry. Bending over. Harry's lips tingled with the wish to kiss Snape and his fingers itched to touch the man. He'd known of his fascination – his crush or whatever one wanted to call it – for the man for such a long time now, but this was the first time he felt the need for Snape like this. This was a new level of intensity, one that didn't go away just by wanking over the idea of someone.

Suddenly gripped by the need to do something, Harry climbed out of bed and _Accio'd_ quill, ink and some parchment then proceeded to write to Snape.

_Severus_

Better not to start with the man's last name – Severus was still not a common name, but it was a damn sight less conspicuous than 'Snape'. Besides, it allowed Harry to use the man's first name, finally. He let it roll over his tongue a couple of times to try it out before going back to his letter.

>   
> _Severus,  
>  Thank you again for helping me out. I have made some inquiries today and I think I'm closer than before. Shouldn't be too long now, I hope._
> 
> That was good. Not too personal for an entrée, nice and easy. Why did this make him so nervous? Harry chuckled at himself. He could perfectly well babble at Snape – _Severus_ – but as he put everything down on parchment, he suddenly felt his stomach play roller coaster. Well, he was known for his directness – he should really play to his strengths.
> 
> _About that lunch I mentioned – what do you think of Friday? I could bring curry._
> 
> _Yours,  
>  Harry_  
> 

  
Harry nodded to himself, then quickly rolled up the piece of parchment and walked over to the living room window, outside which his owl Otis usually was waiting for him. Since Otis had apparently already done his hunting for the night, he was present and ready to take Harry's message. Harry smiled as he saw him fly away. And just as he turned to close the window again, he noticed a lone figure standing on the street. His body was faced towards Harry, but his face was turned as he watched Otis fly.

It took a couple of seconds to register, but then Harry noticed the figure's gait, the complete stillness in his movements, before he started towards the end of the street, towards where Otis had vanished. Then, as the figure looked up at Harry again before Disapparating, it finally dawned on him.

"Fuck!" If his suspicions were correct, down on the street had been the perp he'd been looking for. And if he was following Otis … Harry had to warn Severus.

******

  
Harry Apparated right in front of Severus's door again and hoped he was the first to arrive. Severus threw open the door with a wild look in his eyes. His hair was messed up and it was clear that Harry had just torn him from his well-deserved night's rest. "You!" he growled.

"Yes." Harry pushed past him into the kitchen. It was only now that he realised that the house had a strange structure. "Sorry."

"What is the meaning of this?!" Severus pushed his messy hair out of his face and glared at Harry. Or tried to – he wasn't exactly awake yet. Harry found it kind of cute, not that he would ever say that out loud.

"I think the perp knows where you live."

"What?! How?!"

"Well, he seems to know where I live. At least I'm pretty sure it was him lurking outside my house. He must've followed me somehow, maybe during the day. Maybe even before. I don't know. But I sent you an owl and it was afterwards that I noticed him. And he noticed the owl."

"Why, in Merlin's name, would you send me a bloody owl?!"

"I just ... I wanted to ... Look, the letter didn't contain your last name. He doesn't know that you're ... well, you."

"But he knows that someone you know lives here."

"Yes."

"And you, idiot that you are, Apparated here – just to confirm this."

"I ... No ... I ... Damn."

"With instincts like that, it's a surprise that you Aurors survive this long!" Severus threw his hands up in the air. Then his eyes got a weird look. "Since when are we on first name basis, _Potter_?!"

"I thought using your last name in the letter probably wouldn't be a good idea."

"Not writing me a letter at all would have been a better one."

"Besides, we have known each other for so long, _Severus_."

Severus huffed but didn't argue further. Instead he went to the window and peered outside. "You should've let him come. He wouldn't have been able to get in here."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Besides, I'm capable of duelling some miscreant like that."

Harry sighed. Severus hadn't duelled anyone in years, he was sure of it. And while he doubted neither Severus' magical prowess nor his knowledge of spells, sometimes it just made the difference to be more practiced and to be quicker at casting a spell. But he said nothing about that. "I just wanted to keep you safe."

For a while, Severus was quiet, but then he stepped away from the window. "I can't see him. Nor have my wards been disturbed. What do you propose we do now?"

"Hole up here, I guess," Harry said and shot Severus a weak grin. "Listen, I didn't mean to drag you into this –"

"You did a great job not dragging me into it, really." Severus shot Harry a glare. "In fact, there was no chance in hell you wouldn't drag me into it. Not after I saved your arse again."

"Yeah." Harry cleared his throat. "But since we're both in it now, maybe I could bring you up to speed?"

Severus waved his fingers to tell Harry to start talking. "Do your worst, then."

"Maybe we could move to your living room …" Harry was dying to see more of Severus' house. It was intimate, really, to see more than just this kitchen. He'd never seen a room of Severus' that could really be considered private.

"No, the kitchen will do just fine."

******

  
The sun was already showing on the horizon when Harry had finished telling Severus everything and they had thrown around the first course of ideas. As he was completely knackered, Severus let him nap on the couch for a while, only to wake him up with the smell of coffee wafting through the room. Harry decided then and there that Severus must like him at least a bit.

When Harry had dragged himself to the table and clung to the cup, Severus said, "I don't like playing a sitting duck."

"Me neither." Harry took a big sip of the coffee and sighed happily. Only a potions master would know how to brew the perfect cup even when he actually didn't like coffee at all. "What do you propose?"

"Doing it your way."

Harry's eyes widened immediately at that and he stared at Severus, gaping. Severus agreeing made him confused and hot and bothered at the same time. He swallowed thickly. "Okay. What exactly would that entail?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "Playing Auror, of course."

"So … you say we should go to the suspects' places and check them out?"

"Precisely." Severus nodded. "And Potter? Next time, stop being an arse and involve your colleagues before involving me?"

"Can't promise I will." After all, doing just about anything with Severus was fun. He quickly finished his coffee and got up. "Let's check if the coast is clear first. And let's scan for magical signatures, maybe we’ll get lucky." Harry thought that he saw Severus' eyebrow twitch at that, but decided he must have imagined the whole thing. He went outside first, wand hidden in his sleeve and ready to cast. Severus followed; only, when Harry turned around, Severus looked very much like someone else. Harry decided there and then that he hated glamours. Severus might not be what was widely considered good looking, but he was what made Harry’s heart beat like crazy.

Harry looked around, but couldn't detect anyone. A quick spell confirmed his suspicions – whoever had followed him had vanished a while ago. He cursed, loudly, and earned himself a glare from Severus. "He's gone."

"Can you cast a tracking spell?"

"Sure I can. But his trace is cold."

Severus rolled his eyes at Harry again. "It's not when you know how to work with tracking spells to your advantage."

"What do you mean?"

"Back when I was working as a spy, I often had to deal with tracking spells. I had to find a way to work with them and developed a technique that would allow me to track down the person who tried to find out where I was going."

Harry blinked, ignored the questions bubbling up inside him ('Who placed those tracking spells?', 'What side were they on?', 'Why did they want to follow you?', and 'What did you do?') and asked something else instead: "how can you find that person?"

Severus cleared his throat "If someone places a tracking spell on you, it's possible for you to use this to your advantage. Even when they later sever the connection, a little of it still remains for a couple of hours. You can use it – grab onto it and follow it back, so to speak."

"Really?" Severus’ look was confirmation enough. Harry had to agree – this was useful stuff, especially considering that every tracking spell put Aurors in potential danger. If a suspect escaped and wanted to make sure the Auror wouldn't follow them ever again, they just had to follow the remains of the tracker and kill the Auror. "How?"

Severus showed him a complicated pattern consisting of swirls and flicks and once even a grabbing motion with the wand hand. But Harry was a quick study with spells, and it didn't take him long to get it. While concentrating on the rest of the tracker that he could still feel with his magic, he pronounced the incantation clearly and waved his wand in the pattern. Suddenly, a pale green band appeared in front of him. "Wow! Can you see this?"

"No, only you can. You're the one who cast the spell."

"Okay, then." Hesitating only for a moment, Harry looked at Severus. His brooding look gave Harry strength – as long as this was unwavering, nothing could go wrong. He grasped the green band and gasped as he immediately felt it pulling at him. His free hand shot out and grabbed Severus's hand, then he Disapparated them both.

******

  
They Apparated to a quiet, unremarkable street in a slightly rundown neighbourhood. Harry couldn't say where they were and didn't want to cast another spell in order to avoid bringing himself to the attention of the perp. The green band was still there and led to a flat and wide house further down the street.

"There," Harry said and pointed. He led Severus first behind a couple of dumpsters then on to high, thick bushes. "The tracker leads into the house."

Severus drew his wand and pointed it, but before he could do more, Harry pushed it down again and hissed, "Don't! You'll just alert him!"

"If he hasn't noticed the Apparition just down his street, he won't notice this either."

"And if he has noticed, we'll be walking right into a trap."

"I didn't know you'd grown careful," Severus snorted, then cast the spell.

"I haven't. Not really. I just grew some sense."

Severus snorted again. "Of course you did. He is inside, by the way."

Harry exhaled slowly and looked at Severus. "Are you sure you want to come with?"

"You might have grown up, but you certainly haven't grown out of asking stupid questions. If I didn't want to come with you, I wouldn't be here. I have fought more battles than you can count. Trust me; I know what I'm doing. Besides, someone has to pull your arse back into safety."

Before Harry really knew what he was doing, he'd jumped forward and pressed a kiss to Severus' mouth. His lips were cool and chapped and there was the faint taste of bitter, strong black tea. It was wonderful.

"And what was that supposed to be?" Severus snarled as Harry drew away. "Was that for good luck? Or just to kiss someone one last time before you inevitably try to get yourself killed?"

A blush rose in Harry's cheeks. He didn't even try to fight it. He had just kissed Severus Snape. "That was a kiss because I wanted to kiss you, ever since you made me coffee."

"Coffee's the only reason why?" Severus made it sound like Harry was a slut.

Harry didn't pay him any mind.

"It's not. And before, my train of thought was more aimed at fucking you." Harry glanced at the house again. "Now come on – there'll be plenty of time afterwards to tell you about that in all detail."

"I expect you will."

"And kissing. There’ll be a lot of kissing." And with that, Harry started to move.

******

  
The house wasn't protected by wards, but Harry picked the lock manually anyway, just to make sure he wouldn't trigger anything. Nothing about the whole place felt particularly secure, almost like there was nothing that needed protection. Harry would have thought they'd got the wrong guy, if not for the disturbingly discernible smell of old, dried blood hanging in the air.

Harry forced himself not to look at Severus; he needed to watch what was happening in front. _'Constant vigilance!'_ They crept forwards through the entrance hall, past a sitting room that hadn't been used in a long time. Faded family pictures hung on the walls, and Harry wondered if this was the perp's family or just a couple of poor sods he'd killed in order to find himself a place.

The kitchen was empty, too, but showed signs of recent usage. Used teacups, pots and glasses were piled in the sink and an old-looking loaf of bread lay next to a stick of butter on the table. Harry didn't know if he should be comforted by the knowledge that this guy had a human side, too – a side that would eat with cutlery. A noise coming from upstairs made him twitch and then look at Severus, after all.

"It's a trap," Harry whispered. Severus gave a minuscule nod. There was nothing for it. Trap or no, they had to go upstairs and catch the guy. "You stay here for a minute or so before you follow me."

Wand securely in his hand and his arm close to his body to avoid his wand getting knocked out of his hand by a simple _Expelliarmus_ , Harry moved towards the stairs. He took each step carefully, all too aware of any noise the wooden steps could make as he crept up. The first landing was quiet, but Harry didn't trust the peace. The smell of blood was much too heavy in the air. He found the source for the smell in the first room to the left. They sat in a circle in what must've been a bedroom once. Their hands and feet were bound to armrests and chair legs and their torsos were fixed to the chairs they were sitting in as well. All of them were connected to what looked like a Dark Ages version of an IV and red liquid dripped slowly through tubes into their veins. Harry noted all that, but it was their eyes that caught his attention. They had long ago stopped seeing what was in front of them. They were dry, milky, and never moved.

Harry stepped closer and felt the spell that had been cast on them tingle on his skin. Everything inside him screamed 'wrong'. Whoever these poor souls had been, he had to free them once this was over.

"I see you've met my family."

Harry whirled around with his wand drawn. First he saw the wand pointed at him, then he noticed the man. He was willowy, but his arms were strong-looking, and there was a strange glitter in his eyes that left Harry in no doubt that this was the man he'd been hunting. "What did you do to these people?"

The man in front of him could only be Ken Alexander, according to Harry's research and the name this property was listed under. Alexander cocked his head at Harry. "Why, I saved them."

Harry held his tongue. Years ago he'd painfully learned that sometimes it was best to keep his opinions, no matter how justified, to himself, especially if the person he was dealing with wasn't exactly mentally stable. "How?"

Alexander jerked his wand towards the people 'sitting' in a circle behind Harry. "My spell protects them."

It was more like the spell kept their bodies from rotting. The potion they were shot up with must do something similar – Harry was sure the red colour from the potion came from one or several humans.

"They have lost their magic," Alexander added. "I will give it back to them."

This time, Harry couldn't keep it in. "These people are dead."

"No!" Sparks flew from Alexander's wand and Harry had to move aside in order not to be hit. "They will get their magic back and everything will be fine again! We will be a family again!"

Harry tried for a different approach. "And those people in the warehouse?" Where the fuck was Severus?

"I tried to give them their magic back!"

"Those people were Muggles. They had no magic in them," Harry tried to reason with Alexander.

But Alexander only had this wild look in his eyes. "No! I took the magic and I made them have it!"

Harry tried to grasp what Alexander was saying. McFarley had said that the victims had been loaded up with magical energy and that their bodies hadn't been able to handle it. Alexander must be referring to that – but it still made no sense. "Why did you try to make them magical? Why take them at all?"

"Because they were there. I needed to try on someone unimportant first," Alexander said, suddenly appearing more lucid again. "I tried fixing them. Tried attaching limbs that had held magical energy. But all of them failed."

"And these people?" Harry asked, pointing behind himself. "Will you do the same to them?"

"I'll make them whole again. I will give them back their magic and we will be whole again." Alexander's eyes roved over Harry's body. "You are strong. I'll have your magic." His movements were quick and curses flew from his lips like he was born to do nothing but cast Dark Magic. But Harry was quick too – his shield was up before a spell could harm him. He felt the curses crash against his shield and felt it shudder. His wand hand trembled. Harry waited for the right moment to drop the shield and cast an _Incarcerous_ , but Alexander wouldn't let up. Where the fuck was Severus?

Harry felt his shield wobble and moved towards the people on the chairs. They were dead anyway and sure as hell wouldn't mind if he ducked behind them for a moment or two. As Alexander saw where Harry was going, he bared his teeth in an ugly grimace. Suddenly, his curses got even stronger. Harry felt his shield break and ducked. A red hot flash grazed his cheek, a second his hip, a third hit his leg. Harry jerked up his wand. " _Confringo_!"

" _Stupefy_!"

Suddenly, there was a low thud, followed by silence. Harry peered around the leg of one of the bodies and found Severus standing in the doorway. He got up slowly, wincing only slightly, and dusted himself off. "Took you long enough," he said, suppressing the urge to throw himself at Severus and kiss him.

"I didn't want to spoil all the fun you were having up here."

"Thanks," said Harry and meant saving his arse, again. He was positive Severus got that, too. "We must've hit him at the same time."

"Looks like it." And then, wordlessly, Severus fired rope from his wand – so thin it looked almost like a long snake – and watched it wrap around Alexander. He stepped over Alexander's unconscious body and let his eyes wander over Harry. It made Harry feel strangely cared for and he had to smile. Severus nodded when he apparently was satisfied with the status of Harry's health, then he turned towards the lifeless forms bound to the chairs. "They were his family."

"You sure?"

"They are the people from the pictures downstairs. And he," Severus pointed at Alexander, "was in those pictures, too. From the way things look, they must've fallen during the war."

"And he kept them like this, in hopes of reviving them." Harry shook his head. "I wonder if he went crazy over time or if he was crazy before they were killed."

"I guess we'll never know. And to be honest, I don't care." Severus cleared his throat. "I suspect you will call your Auror colleagues now?"

Harry sighed and nodded. "I have to. Could be that the Unspeakables noticed the high level of Dark Magic around here. I better call my boss before they arrive and try to steal the whole case. They are a sorry bunch of glory hunters. Can't brag outside the Ministry, but hell if you see them in the cafeteria."

Severus snorted. "I'll leave you to it, then." He didn't wait for Harry to reply and Disapparated on the spot, leaving Harry to sigh again and rub his hand over his face.

"Hell," he mumbled and conjured his Patronus. For a moment, he considered ridding the place of Severus' magical signature, but since Severus' and Alexander's signatures were so similar, he doubted someone would make the connection. If they could keep out the damn Unspeakables, that was.

******

  
It took Harry hours before he could go home. First they had to clear up the mess in the house. Alexander was taken into custody and the bodies were taken off that God-awful machine and then taken away by the mediwizards. They would be given the burial they should have had all those years ago. The house itself had been another story altogether. McFarley and his team would be busy with that one for a long time to come. Once that was clear, Singer had dragged Harry off to first rip him a new one for 'going in alone' and for 'defying direct orders to park his arse at home'. After that, Harry had been forced to see a healer about those stupid curse-hits. They had been nothing, of course, and both Singer and Harry had known that, but Singer also knew how much Harry hated being poked at by the healers. And to top Harry's day off with a cherry, he had had the pleasure of going through masses of paperwork. At least they had been able to keep the Unspeakables out.

Now Harry lay on the couch with icepacks on cheek, hip and leg, and wondered why he just couldn't take a nap and whether or not he would actually see Severus again. He wouldn't put it past the man to move just to avoid Harry _and_ to piss Harry off.

Just as Harry's eyes started to droop, the doorbell rang. Harry dragged himself off the couch and hoped it wasn't Hermione and Ron. They, as a tag-team, were sometimes worse than Molly with their doting, and no matter how much Harry loved them, he didn't think he could suffer them right now. But as he opened the door, it wasn’t them standing there, but Severus. He was carrying two white plastic bags that smelled suspiciously like curry.

"It's a little late for lunch, but I bet you haven't eaten anything today anyway," Severus said and pushed past a stunned-looking Harry.

"How did you find me?" Harry closed the door and followed Severus into the kitchen.

"I followed your stupid little tracker." Severus put the bags on the table.

"You found it."

"Of course I did. I'm a spy."

"Former spy."

"Spies don't retire," Severus said as he _Accio'd_ plates and cutlery.

Harry blinked slowly, then finally did what he had wanted to do since they'd knocked Alexander out. Severus kissed back with fervour and pulled him close until their bodies were moulded against each other. Harry smiled against Severus' mouth – and blushed immediately as his stomach growled.

"Shall we?" Severus squeezed Harry's butt then stepped away and opened one of the bags.

"Yes." Harry grinned and decided then and there that he'd never let Severus go.

-The End-

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